


Bound

by d_dandelions



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Gen, Kink Discovery, Omorashi, Piss without Plot, Watersports, Wetting, canon typical sheppard bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 10:48:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28470066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d_dandelions/pseuds/d_dandelions
Summary: It isn’t, John eventually decides, theworstcell he’s ever been stuck in.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 41





	Bound

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chaos_monkey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaos_monkey/gifts).



> happy new year everyone, here's some piss XD

It isn’t, John eventually decides, the _worst_ cell he’s ever been stuck in. A little dark and cramped, sure, but that’s par for the course and, either the cell hadn’t seen much use in the past, or his captors went to at least some effort to clean it between prisoners. If they’d bothered to come back and gloat after leaving him here in the first place he might even have commended them for it all.

Even more encouraging is the message he’d manage to send back to Atlantis before he’d been taken prisoner, a message that all but guaranteed a rescue team would be on their way. No one had brought it up, either to punish him for sending it or smugly brag that they’d been able to stop it from going through, and he doubts they’ve even realised he sent it. They hadn’t seemed especially interested in speaking to him at all, in truth, content to leave him alone in his cell. After they’d pushed him to his knees and bound his hands and ankles behind his back in a complicated mess of rope, that is. John smirks to himself as he tugs lightly against the bindings. Discomfort aside, it’s almost a little flattering to be considered so much of a threat.

His limbs ache and the floor is cold and hard under his knees but he’s not in any real pain and, really, if it wasn’t for the awkward position he’s resignedly stuck in until help arrives from Atlantis, this whole experience wouldn’t even be all that difficult to endure. 

Well. 

He fidgets anxiously and squeezes his thighs a little closer together. 

The position and one _other_ , extremely pressing concern. 

The back corner of his cell had started looking very inviting about an hour ago. Now, with his bladder painfully full and still nothing to suggest he’s going to get a chance to empty it anytime soon, it just feels like it’s taunting him. At the very least he wishes he could loosen the belt pressing uncomfortably across his midsection, or give his cock a quick, surreptitious squeeze, _anything_ to distract himself from his desperate need to pee and the mortifying certainty that he’s not going to be able to hold it in for much longer. His tongue darts out briefly to wet his lips and he swallows hard, fervently trying not to think too deeply about floating cities with plentiful bathrooms or off-world missions with an abundance of trees to duck behind, whenever you felt the need. Most of all, he tries to think of anything other than how good it would feel to be able to stand up, stretch his aching muscles and, _finally_ , take a nice, long piss.

He’s startled from thoughts of relief that he definitely hadn’t been indulging in by a loud, echoing crash and the faint sound of gunfire from far across the base. John’s shoulders slump in relief. Help is coming. Or, at the very least, he’ll have some company down in the cells. Involuntarily, he relaxes at the thought, long enough to allow a hot spurt of piss to escape and leave a small, dark stain on his light grey pants. He clenches his hands into desperate fists behind his back and squirms helplessly, trying to hold on just a little while longer, even as the pee he hadn’t been able to hold in clings uncomfortably to his skin, cooling rapidly in the cold air.

The faint sounds of disruption don’t sound like they’re getting closer quickly enough. John groans under his breath and shifts his weight again. It doesn’t accomplish much more than jarring his boots together unpleasantly and sending another unwelcome jolt of sheer urgency through his bladder. He casts a nervous look through the bars of his cell, craning his neck to see as much of the dim passage curling around from the stairway as he can and bites his lip anxiously. Still nothing. 

There’s no way he’s going to make it. Even the knowledge that he likely won’t have to wait much longer for rescue does nothing to alleviate his discomfort. He probably couldn’t so much as stand up without losing it at this point and, even if he could, he doesn’t relish the thought of delaying an entire rescue mission just so he can take a desperately needed piss as soon as he’s untied. If his captors happen to catch him in this state then so be it, he’s only human, he has needs and the blame rests entirely on them for improper care of their prisoners. But if the rescue team finds him first, if it’s one of _his_ team… 

It sends a hot flare of... something that isn’t entirely embarrassment through his gut, the thought of Rodney or Ronon or Teyla rounding the corner to see him squirming frantically against his bindings or, and he feels his face heat a little at the thought, kneeling in a puddle of his own piss, panting in helpless relief. It’s not a feeling he can afford to dwell on right now, not with his thighs shifting together, absently and unceasingly, and the small wet patch pressing tauntingly against his cock and making it that much harder to keep holding on.

John tips his head back with a frustrated groan. Rescue’s coming and he’d be a distracted liability at _best_ in a firefight right now. There isn’t really any other choice. He makes one last, pessimistic attempt at escape, a helpless, lackadaisical squirm against the ropes, and finally, _finally_ lets go. 

The dark patch spreads across his crotch and in thick, uneven trickles down his thighs, soaking through the light fabric of his pants and splattering messily onto the floor. It’s _loud_ , the soft, persistent hiss as he soaks his pants and the unmistakable liquid sound of his urine falling to the hard floor and pooling under his knees. In the quiet cell it’s _startlingly_ loud and so is the soft moan he can’t quite hold back as his thighs shake with sheer, weightless _relief_.

He doesn’t quite know why but he watches it all without blinking, his piss spreading across the light grey fabric of his pants, the puddle steadily forming under him and the thin rivulets of pee that trickle slowly across the uneven floor of the cell. Eventually the hiss of fast-flowing liquid slows to a soft trickle and then to a stop and he’s left gasping noiselessly in relief, the cell silent except for the quiet, irregular dripping of piss from his saturated pants down to the puddle on the ground. 

It should feel…. a whole lot worse than it does, the clammy dampness under his knees and the way his pants are clinging to his thighs, a constant, uncomfortable reminder that he really just…..

He really just wet himself. 

The not-quite-embarrassment feeling buzzes restlessly through his body as he adjusts to the sensation of his wet clothes against his skin. Suddenly, he wishes he had a hand free so he could feel the piss staining his thighs, touch his cock through his soaked pants. He imagines making himself come with his pants only undone enough to free his cock, legs still soaked in his own pee. He imagines getting back to Atlantis, with doors that lock and time to experiment. 

With another shift of his hips, John Sheppard sits back on his boots and eagerly waits to be rescued.


End file.
